


you're just the girl all the boys want to dance with

by pirateygoodness



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/F, Friends To Almost-Lovers, Not Quite Friends With Benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22132714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirateygoodness/pseuds/pirateygoodness
Summary: Charlie smiles, reaches over to take another sip of Zari's coffee. She's a few minutes away from just stealing a bite of Zari's waffle and probably dripping syrup across Zari's arm in the process. Zari keeps eating, in self-defense. "You tell me what it was like to get the real thing in hand," she says, wiggling her eyebrows in case the euphemism was too subtle. "And I'll tell you about my dream night with David Bowie. Quid pro quo or whatever."
Relationships: Charlie/Zari Tomaz
Comments: 7
Kudos: 118





	you're just the girl all the boys want to dance with

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Fall Out Boy's A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me." Written for the countdown to Legends S5.

"So what was it like?" Charlie asks. She's sitting on the kitchen table while Zari eats breakfast and tries to ignore the fact that Charlie's bare thigh has got to be resting on the table, judging from the way her skirt hikes up as she sits. Zari's also trying her very best to ignore the fact that Charlie's butt is less than ten inches away from her waffles. 

(Having Charlie around is similar to what Zari's always imagined it would be like to have a pet cat, in some ways. She sits where she wants, and the more Zari tries to resist it, the more Charlie insists that staying put is a matter of deep, paramount, principled importance.)

(Hence: breakfast with Charlie on the table.) 

"What was what like?" Zari replies. Feigning ignorance is typically the best approach when it comes to Charlie. She focuses on spreading the perfect swirl of butter onto her waffle, and pretends not to notice when Charlie reaches across the table and steals a very generous sip of coffee from her mug. 

Charlie winks and leans down into Zari's personal space, as though she's about to ask something secret. "Having a poke with Kamadeva, obviously," she says, in a completely normal speaking voice. 

"Okay, this is -" Zari closes her eyes. The inside of her mouth still tastes like maple syrup and she focuses on that, the way her tongue is sweet and heavy from breakfast and not the way Charlie just looked at her. Her first thought is that she doesn't need to know this - that Charlie is quite this thirsty for Zari's fake sex god almost-husband - but that's not actually true. Charlie is her own person and embracing sexuality is healthy and it doesn't matter to Zari who Charlie is lusting after. It's the little undercurrent that's pulling Zari's attention away from her perfect buttery syrupy waffle morning. The gleam in Charlie's eye that makes Zari feel like it's not just details on Kamadeva that Charlie's after: it's Kamadeva _with Zari._

( _Someday,_ the voice in the back of her thoughts warns her. _Someday you're going to have to deal with these feelings._ ) 

Her eyes are closed for a second, maybe two. It's just long enough for Charlie to react. Zari hears her slide off the table, opens her eyes just as her ears register the scrape of a chair being dragged across the floor. Charlie's bounced from the table to the seat next to Zari, has pulled her chair over back-first so that she can straddle it backwards and drape herself over the backrest. She's close enough that she can walk her index and middle fingers across Zari's shoulder: just enough of an intrusion into Zari's personal space that Zari is forced to pay attention again. "Come on, Z," she says. Her voice is legitimately soft now, a crooning quality to it that Zari can't help but find charming. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." 

"But you didn't -" 

Charlie smiles, reaches over to take another sip of Zari's coffee. She's a few minutes away from just stealing a bite of Zari's waffle and probably dripping syrup across Zari's arm in the process. Zari keeps eating, in self-defense. "You tell me what it was like to get the real thing in hand," she says, wiggling her eyebrows in case the euphemism was too subtle. "And I'll tell you about my dream night with David Bowie. Quid pro quo or whatever." 

Zari takes another bite. Her waffles aren't asking her uncomfortably tempting questions about her recent sexual awakening; she appreciates them more than they can ever know. "What would I do with insider knowledge about your fantasies?" she asks. 

Charlie's smile gets wider. There's this energy to her, this halo sheer delight that practically radiates off of her when she feels like she's seized an opportunity. "I mean," she says. She punches Zari in the back of the arm, winks conspiratorially. Her lips twist, as she clicks her tongue against the inside of her teeth in a way that's unequivocally sexual. "What you do with that knowledge is your business, Z." 

Zari has a sudden mental image of David Bowie - she had to look him up, and sure he's not her type but she can see why he's Charlie's - and Charlie down on her knees in front of him. Her stupid, traitor body reacts. 

(Which isn't even her _fault_ , she wasn't like this until after Kamadeva, but now that she's indulged herself a little bit her body wants her to _keep indulging._ ) 

"And what are _you_ going to do with that knowledge?" Zari asks. Her plate is empty, and now there's nowhere to look but right at Charlie. 

Charlie shrugs. "Never hurts to give the highlight reel a little refresh." 

"The highlight reel like -" Zari starts. Charlie grins at her; she doesn't need to finish. "Gross." 

Charlie rolls her eyes. "Oh come on Z, like you've never." 

"Never what?" Zari asks. She knows what. She definitely knows what and she definitely does, but there's a part of her that wants to make Charlie say it. 

"Never taken matters into your own hands?" Charlie says. She leans forward, far enough that the chair actually tips toward Zari, balanced on two legs. "Not on those long, lonely nights thinking about Nate?" 

Zari feels her cheeks go hot. Charlie has such a knack for this, making comments that somehow get things about Zari exactly right. The timbre of her voice is soft and deep and it brings up this perfect memory of Zari doing exactly that, her hand sliding under the waistband of her pyjamas as she thought about Nate in a way that felt forbidden and impossibly sexy and it's not fair. It's not fair that her body wants things and that Charlie knows that about her and that she has to deal with this at all. She wants to be Gideon; a floating voice in a void who doesn't have to deal with any of this. "That's not - any of your business," she says. 

Charlie raises her hands, palms up, and tips her chair back onto all four legs. "Of course not," she says. "But if - theoretically - you were the kind of person who did that. Might be nice to have some new material." 

"Theoretically," Zari echoes. 

"Come on, Z," Charlie says. "What's a little sex talk between friends?" 

Zari shifts in her seat, and she can't tell anymore if it's because she's uncomfortable or aroused or a strange blend of both at once. She doesn't do sex talk. She doesn't do girl talk. She doesn't do talking about anything to do with her body or her feelings, ever. But her mind flashes back to Charlie on her knees, pulling at a zipper and reaching into tight glam-rock trousers and Zari's body remembers what it was like to have Kamadeva on top of her and maybe. Maybe just this once, it would be alright to be a little self-indulgent. "Not here," she says. "And you can't, like - don't tell anyone." 

"But that's a yes?" Charlie says. Her chair tips forward again; in her eagerness she almost overbalances and recovers by bracing herself on the back of Zari's. 

"Yeah." 

Charlie breaks into that grin again, the joy radiating off of her. "My lips are sealed, Z," she says. "Your room or mine?" 

Zari takes a moment. Or rather: she puts her dishes away in the sink, and it gives her a moment to consider her options. Her room means it's her space, and she's more comfortable, and probably there won't be any old beer or dirty socks lying around. But her room also means that she has to kick Charlie out when they're done. Charlie's space means that Zari can leave. "My room," Zari says. "If that's alright." 

Charlie shoves herself out of her seat somehow, the chair sliding across the floor a few inches as she steps over it. She doesn't say a word, but the way she smiles with all her teeth tells Zari that it's more than alright. 

+

Charlie listens to Zari talk about her most transformative sexual experience of the last year like she's watching a football match. There's something refreshing about it, if Zari's being honest. Zari talks about Kamadeva's body, the way it felt to be swept up in the romance of him, and Charlie honest-to-goodness cheers out loud. "Okay but tell me about it," she asks. She's leaning in, elbows on her knees while she sits cross-legged on Zari's bed. 

"About what?" Zari asks.

"His _prick_ , come on, Z. How was it?" Charlie asks.

Zari doesn't know what to say. She remembers it - she _very much_ remembers it, the visual and the weight of it in her hands and the way that it felt to have it slide into her. She remembers how good it felt to have her body stretch around it, that feeling of _full_ that she didn't realize her body was missing. 

(She also remembers thinking about Nate; that idle moment of wondering if his equipment would feel the same inside her or different, if he'd be bigger or smaller, if he'd pause once he filled her all the way and smile down at her the way Kamadeva did.) 

(She remembers that little flurry of irritation, the promise to never say a _word_ about how Sara and Charlie's horrible sex advice was exactly right.) 

But she doesn't remember how Kamadeva compared to partners she's had in the past, doesn't know how to begin to describe it to Charlie in a way that's about his anatomy and not about the deep, thrilling relief of having sex again after a long time without it. "Fine," she says. "Good." 

Charlie bites her lip. "So it was a monster, then. I knew it." 

Zari flounders. "I mean, I don't know about -"

"Looking at him I thought he'd have the kind that would have a girl walking sideways the next morning," Charlie says. She's got her tongue curled up, pressed to the inside of her upper teeth and the effect is one of delight and hunger commingled. "But I bet it's been a while for you, Z. Did he fit?" 

Zari feels a sudden flutter between her legs, followed by a sweet little ache. She _is_ a little sore, in the sweet way that comes from a night well-spent, but Charlie doesn't need to know that. "He fit just fine, thank you." 

(Charlie doesn't have to know about the moment when Zari first held him in her hand, wrapped her fingers around him and squeezed and really did wonder if he would.) 

"Did you come on him?" Charlie asks. "Or did he have to, you know." 

She gestures with her wrist, this rapid back-and-forth that somehow indicates nothing in particular and something very, very specific at the same time. Zari closes her eyes as tightly as she can, lets her mouth twist. It takes her a moment to find the courage to mumble the answer: "Both." 

Charlie rocks back and whistles with delight, then leans forward and punches Zari in the arm with enough force that it actually hurts a little. "That's my girl, Zari. Good for you." 

Zari's cheeks are so hot. She brings her hands up; her fingertips are cool in comparison and she blots at them, gently. It's complicated, the warm pride of someone else knowing that she hooked up with the closest thing she'll ever find to a sex god and it was _excellent_ , the thrill of that someone else being _Charlie_ and the way that Charlie's cheers, her own obvious delight at Zari's experiences, are vaguely comforting. "Okay," she says. "Now you." 

Charlie grins. Her hands go to her forearms, rolling her shirt sleeves up to the elbows as though that'll help her tell the story better. "Alright, so I need you to understand: we're backstage at the Roxy, in the room that - it's like the dressing room, except that it's a shitty punk bar so it's a bathroom and The Clash are playing outside and it's just." She pauses to whistle. "It's the kind of loud where it feels sort of cozy, you know? Like the sound is a warm blanket." 

Zari feels like she doesn't know, but then she thinks about the way that it feels to turn on the stereo as loud as it'll go when she's working on a coding problem, and - oh. "Yeah, I get that," she says. 

Charlie goes on. She sets the stage, David Bowie covered in glitter, wearing platforms and a jumpsuit open to his navel and it shouldn't be punk but it is because he's there, complaining about how The Clash are kind of shit and Siouxie and the Banshees have a more authentic sound. It's clear that the music is important, that liking the same music is flirtation, somehow. It gives Zari a sudden flash of insight into Charlie, makes those _someday_ feelings stir uncomfortably behind her ribs. 

Charlie talks about kissing, about the way it feels for her to be aroused and the way it feels to notice her partner's arousal in his beautiful shiny zebra-print jumpsuit. Zari can't help it. She's absorbed. She suddenly understands what Charlie meant, why Charlie was so eager for details of her encounter. Zari wants to hear about this in surround-sound, wants to learn every moment of it for reasons that she can't fully explain. She finds herself leaning forward, asking, "Then what?" 

Charlie stops short, smiles. "Then he ate me out, right there on the side of the sink." she shivers, wraps her arms around herself in delight. "I forgot how _nice_ it is to have a good tongue inside, you know?" 

Zari gets another little flutter from her groin in reply. She wants that, suddenly. She wants a tongue inside her, and she's just foggy enough that she can't tell if she wants that tongue to be Kamadeva or Nate or Charlie or David Bowie or all of the above. "Yeah," she finds herself saying, in a voice so breathy that it hardly sounds like her own. "I know what you mean." 

Charlie pauses, as if for dramatic effect, and says, "And then I woke up and I was already coming. Didn't even have to wank about it. _That's_ a quality sex dream." 

Zari gets another flash, a mental image of Charlie waking up in the throes of her orgasm. In her minds eye, Charlie laughs when she comes. "That is a _very_ good dream." 

(She thinks about coming out to the kitchen, meeting Charlie there with a grin on her face and an ice cube to the side of her neck. She thinks about the idea of not just Charlie, but _Charlie, who had just had an orgasm_ , and the distinction seems important, somehow.) 

There's a moment that hangs between them. Charlie looks at her, up and down, like she's really taking Zari in. For once, Zari doesn't mind. It feels good to be noticed, to be observed in the state that she's in by Charlie, and a part of her feels like that _someday_ might shift to _someday soon._

"Anyway," Charlie says. There's a quaver to her voice, something that Zari can't quite place, as she rubs her palms on her thighs and leaps off the bed. "Thank you for the truly excellent material. I'll let you get on with your day." 

"Thanks," Zari says. "I, um. I appreciate it." 

Charlie leaves. Her absence feels like a loss, just for a moment. Zari makes a point of not thinking about why that might be.


End file.
